When Your Mind Goes Blank Mid-Sentence
When one completely human moment feels like a threat to your credibility
Something happened during a group coaching call last night that lasted maybe a few seconds, but I kept thinking about it long after the call ended.
Mostly because my reaction to it was so much bigger than what actually happened.
My Mind Went Completely Blank
Here’s a little story about the time I experienced that, totally against my will and out of nowhere.
Group coaching call, Friday night.
We were mid-conversation, talking about topics where I know I know my shit. Not just professionally, but personally. Lived experience kind of stuff. Like I could talk about it with my eyes closed, and I was actually so excited to share.
My boss asked a question that really got me thinking. It was one of those “yes, this is important” moments where I could feel the dots starting to connect. For me, the best way to navigate that is usually to start talking and let the thoughts come together as I go.
So I opened my mouth, started talking my way through it, and halfway through my thought...
Blank.
Not a lost word or a mental hiccup. Like—nothing. Just stillness. Silence. For what felt like the first time in my life, there wasn't a single thought available to grab onto.
And I did not enjoy it. 😂
At first, I thought to myself, “Okay, no big deal. You’ll find your train of thought again. Just take a breath” But then I remembered:
- This is a live call.
- This is being recorded.
- These women are here to receive something from me.
- I’m not just sharing—I’m supposed to be using this moment to help teach them something, or at least give them guidance on a difficult topic.
- Omg the panic is starting to set in.
When a Pause Feels Like Proof You Don’t Belong
For a second, I felt that familiar pull: the old urge to push through. To perform. To pretend I had it all together. To prove I belonged in the space.
An old part of me was still operating under some outdated beliefs, like:
You must always be clear, well spoken, and have a plan.
You must always be helpful and useful, constantly providing something in some way.
You must always be ready for anything, and if you don’t know the answer, people might realize you don't belong here.
I felt the heat creeping up my chest and across my face when I realized I wasn't going to grab the thought again and keep speaking like nothing had happened.
It was truly gone.
Cue total breakdown, right?
But here’s what happened instead.
I paused.
I breathed.
I admitted out loud: “I’m so sorry—I completely lost my train of thought.”
And I asked for help.
The women on the call were kind. The lead coach gently reminded me of what I’d just said, and it gave me an anchor point to grab onto. I was able to come back to the topic, explore it in a new way (even if it felt like I was kind of talking out of my ass for a minute), and eventually found my footing again.
The Blank Moment Wasn’t Actually the Problem
That moment of blankness lingered. It hadn't ruined the call. The call actually ended beautifully.
What struck me was how much fear those few seconds brought up.
Why did that moment feel so threatening??
Why did I feel so afraid people would think I didn’t know what I was talking about??
Why did a completely human moment feel like a failure??
Here’s the answer I had to sit with:
I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling like I had to prove I was safe to trust. If I could speak clearly, hold space well, sound smart, be helpful... then maybe I’d be allowed to stay. Maybe I’d belong. Maybe I’d matter.
Growing up, I often felt like I was in trouble even when I couldn't figure out what I'd actually done wrong. Somewhere along the way, I learned to connect being wrong with losing credibility, trust, and belonging.
So when my words disappeared, it didn't feel like, oops, brain fart.
It felt like exposure.
Like someone might suddenly think, “See? She doesn't actually know what she's doing.”
For a few seconds, my brain went all the way to What if my boss never lets me lead another coaching call?
Which is a pretty impressive distance to travel from “I lost my train of thought.” 😂
That silence wasn't a failure.
My mind went blank. That's it.
I don't actually need to turn the blankness itself into some profound message from my body for the moment to have taught me something.
What mattered was what happened after it.
I couldn't perform my way out of the moment, so I told the truth. I asked for help. Someone helped me. I found my footing again.
And nothing terrible happened.
That gave me an opportunity to notice a fear I might never have seen if everything had gone perfectly.
Maybe You Don’t Have to Recover So Quickly
Maybe you've had your own version of this.
Your mind goes blank. You say the wrong thing. You don't know the answer. You need someone to repeat the question. You lose your train of thought while everyone is looking at you.
And immediately, you start scrambling to recover quickly enough that nobody notices.
I'm starting to wonder what happens when we don't.
What if you can pause?
What if you can say, “I don't know.”
What if you can ask for help?
What if someone sees you without the perfectly packaged answer and you discover that you still get to belong?
That night, I lost my train of thought.
I also got a tiny piece of evidence that I don't have to perform perfectly to be trusted.
I'll take it.
If mistakes or imperfect moments tend to feel much bigger than they logically should, I wrote more about that in Why Making a Mistake Can Feel So Much Bigger Than the Mistake.
Want Somewhere to Practice Being a Human With Other Humans?
The Way Home Women’s Circle is a free weekly space for honest conversation, reflection, and connection. You don't need a perfectly packaged thought before you speak, and you're welcome to listen when you don't feel like speaking at all.
We meet Tuesdays at 7pm CT on Zoom.
